


What's Left of My Heart Is Still Made of Gold

by Ambros



Series: Tumblr Prompts [37]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Happy Ending, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, TW for allusions to suicidal thoughts, There is a character death, but it's the OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 08:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambros/pseuds/Ambros
Summary: “Do you think we are monsters?” you ask. Catarina’s head is in your lap, Ragnor’s head in hers.You comb your fingers through her hair in the silence.She says: “I think we are different.”Ragnor says: “At least we don’t have hair all over our body or fangs in our mouth.”Catarina flicks the horn on his forehead.Ragnor bats her hand away and says: “I think we make mistakes,” and quietly adds: “But being born isn’t one of them.”





	What's Left of My Heart Is Still Made of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I feel awful because this wasn't the prompt at all, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me >.<  
> Also, this is somewhat of a companion piece to [this FF](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11932887)  
> Let me know (kindly)?

You’ve hidden it well, the way you used to ask _what did I do wrong?,_ the way you grabbed your mother’s dress and said _I can fix it_. You don’t remember her name, nor what she looked like. You think she was beautiful. Sometimes you dream of a woman who smiles, long, dark hair falling on the side of her neck.

You remember how she stopped smiling when you were nine.

You said _I won’t do it again, mama, I promise_ but it wasn’t enough.

(She looked at you, eyes and mouth wide in horror, so terrible and damning that it stole the voice right out of her throat as she whispered _monster_.)

~

You let blue magic dance in the palm of your hand, your head thrown back as you play with other immortal children - you are all young and perfect and you don’t care if the world burns around you.

(Somebody shouts _we are monsters_ and you take that word and eat it raw, you think if you own it it will never be used against you, you laugh and you think _yes, we are_. And the world has taken so much from you, you think _I am only a monster_.)

~

The girl is sweet and young and mortal. She loves you but you don’t love her.

There’s a boy in the small town who looks at you with disgust and looks at her like she holds the secrets of his world behind her teeth when she laughs.

You pity him.

(It’s an accident.

She drank too much and she drowned, and now she can’t laugh any-more, and the boy has lost all of his secrets; he has nothing left when he growls _monster_ , rage boiling in his voice, wet with desperation.  
You could kill him with a flick of your wrist.

You whisper _I’m sorry_.

It’s the first time you ask for forgiveness for being what you are.)

~

You look at the beautiful dagger balanced in your hand, its sharp edges a breath away from cutting your skin.

There is no poetry in death and there is no poetry in life, but that dagger’s blade gently placed against your chest is as close as it gets.

(You think _monster, monster, monster_. It’s the boy’s voice. _Monster, monster, monster._

“Magnus.”  
You almost push the dagger when you turn, startled, Camille’s dark eyes in yours.

Her words are slow and lacking her usual shallowness when she says: “Let’s go get a drink.”

You need to tell her London’s accent doesn’t suit her.

You put the dagger down.)

~

“Do you think we are monsters?” you ask. Catarina’s head is in your lap, Ragnor’s head in hers.

You comb your fingers through her hair in the silence.

She says: “I think we are different.”  
  
Ragnor says: “At least we don’t have hair all over our body or fangs in our mouth.”

Catarina flicks the horn on his forehead.

Ragnor bats her hand away and says: “I think we make mistakes,” and quietly adds: “But being born isn’t one of them.”

~

“I love you,” he says.

He whispers, like it’s a secret, like it’s only for you. He’s sweet.

You don’t love him but you don’t wish you did.  
  
 You kiss him and he tastes like honey.  
  
 You are glad he doesn’t hold secrets for you to ruin.

~

Ragnor shakes his head: “Let the boy love you.”

You don’t look at him: “I’m not doing anything.”  
  
 “ _Exactly_.”  
  
 Ragnor sighs when you don’t answer: “You are allowed to be loved.”

You look at him, sharp; you warn: “Don’t.”  
  
 Ragnor’s eyes are hard, his mouth a thin line. He doesn’t take it back.

~

(You don’t learn fast enough.

He leaves when you make the honey between his lips turn bitter.

There’s a quiet resignation in your chest. You feel calm. Maybe it’s for the best.)

~

He’s young and brave and bright and invincible.

You think _it would be nice to feel alive one more time._

You are not expecting the secrets you find hidden behind his lips, the answers buried in his eyes, they hit you so hard you could drown.  
  
You’d never understood the boy. You think maybe now you do.

 

You hold on because you can’t let go _now_ , now that you know how it feels.

 

(You almost - almost don’t want him to give in. You push and you push and you push because a corner of your mind wants to show you _you are not allowed, looking at him is too much already_.)

But he turns.

He turns and he kisses you and he lets his secrets spill all over your lips.

 

Alec doesn’t ask for permission to love you. He simply does.

He doesn’t hold it against you, doesn’t ask for anything in return. He shrugs as he hands you his heart, _what am I going to do with it if you won’t have it?  
_ You have to get rid of the poison running under your skin, you can’t let it touch Alec’s heart, you will the monster out of your mind because there is no place for both, you won’t risk hurting it.

He loves you.

He loves the monster he’s never seen and what it left behind, the soul you dragged with you.  
  
 It doesn’t change anything.  
  
 (It changes everything.)


End file.
